Despite Her Resounding Cute-it-tude, Suri Cruise Was Obvs Crying Out To Be Rescued By An Apache Helicopter Or A Rogue Submarine

Dear Suri Cruise, *?

Believe it or not, this photo was taken moments after your little celebrified, scientology flecked ass walked right be me!

Yep, it's totally, 100% true!

It was last Friday afternoon around 12: 35 in Union Square. I had just gotten off of work (summer hours all year long, bitches!) and I was walking over to Trader Joe's with my husband to get some more of those 100 calorie choc bars, frozen meatless meatballs, cashew nuts and those asian soup bowl things that I totally dig for lunch.

Anyway, there we are...innocently walking along, cursing all of the annoying mofos who crossed our path and delayed our fucking mango, roasted red salsa purchasing for another 38 seconds, when I look over and immediately have this thought:

"Why the fuck do I know that little girl who's walking by me? I know like 9 kids total and I hate all the other ones, so unless that bitch is related to me, which she clearly is not, there is no way that I could possibly know who the fuck her little as [....] OHHELLSYEAH! WAIT A GODDAMMED FUCKING MINUTE. IT'S SURI MOTHERFUCKING CRUISE! THE Suri motherfucking Cruise [xenu, xenu]. AND IF THAT'S the SURI, THAN SHE MUST BE WALKING WITH [at this point, eyes shift up...and up...and until I spot an alien, giraffe-like being in skinny jeans with a bad haircut] KKKKKAAAAATTTTIIIIEEEE!"

The following took place over the course of the next four seconds: I point out you and ur mama bear Katie Holmes to my husband. He responds with a predictable "WHERE!!??" I point out exactly where (i.e. right in his fucking face). He responds with an "OOOOHHHHH YEAAAAHHHH." I stumble in my purse for my cell phone to take a picture of you (I cannot, for the life of me, locate my cell phone). My husband says "Wait, where again???"

ZOMGS.

By this time, you and your mamz had skipped away, off to the park (I now learn) to ostensibly play or some shit like that.

Gone forever.

Buh bye, bitches.

The whole thing seemed like a random act at the time, based on the logic of: well, we live in NYC; lots of celebs live here too; we're bound to run into some every once in awhile.

However, after careful analysis, I submit to you (you = my fine DFA readers; AND you = Suri), that that's all just a load of shit. This was not a random meeting...this was not haphazard: this was a divine power intervening on our behalfs (is that even a word?). This was fate. This was kismet. This was written in the book of life.

I'm not sure why I've been deemed the chosen one (again! wow, thanks gawd), but somehow, somewhere, the responsibility to rescue you-n-ur-mom from the grips of your scientology soaked, Tom Cruise powered vice grip has fallen on the shoulders of yours truly.

Le sigh.

Ok, so check it: I'm not exactly sure how I'm ultimately going to carry this shit out, but in the meantime, tell your mommy dearest to keep sneaking off to her closet and recording messages for us. She can even bring you if she has to, I don't give a crap.

Also, in the meantime, I've set up the following toll free number to ring directly on my cellphone: 1-800-SURI-RES (CUE...get it?). You can reach me day or night (try not to call after 10:30pm).

I am here for you now...ALWAYS. But I guess you already know that....since you walked by me on Friday...totally on purpose...and very not randomly.

Everything will be fine (probably).

keepin the faith,
m.e.

Tom Cruise-N-Katie Holmes: Ditch The Garanimals, MMM Kay?

Dear Tom & Katie, *

I normally never do fashion focused posts because there are tons of other blogs out there on the interwebs that are way better suited to discuss this sort of thing that I am, but I can no longer sit idly by biting my tongue about you two bitches.

You're both in NYC right now for Katie's show All My Sons. And I'M in NYC, and true I'm probs seeing way more pics of you than I normally would, but now you two got me all curious so I started googling.

OMFG.

Let's break this shit down:

1. Matching Fucking Outfits!? - Ok, look: if you have little baby twins or trips or something and you want to put them in little matching outfits, that's kinda cute. Or if its Halloween and you l00zers want to match it up with coordinating and/or matching outfits, more power to you....but at a cocktail party at the Hermes store!? You have GOT to be fucking kidding me. This makes me want to go take a power vomit. Couples don't wear matching outfits. Espesh if you're a mega rich, superstar celeb couple on a quest to prove to everyone that a. You actually are real couple; b. Your life is not ruled and carefully planned out by a team of manipulative Scientologists plotting to take over the world; or c. You're not gay.

I mean, this shit is Celeb 101 here. I've only got a fucking blog that's about celebrities and I know this!

Some friendly advice: this is sooo not cute; This is sooo not cool; This is so not something you should EVER do again.

Oh wait:
2. Taking Chances - Stepping out of your comfort zone every once in awhile to take a chance on a new look or a new designer is something I applaud. It's during these moments that we often feel we get a true look into the moods, likes, and dislikes of all you crazy celeb kids. Here's the rub: this can either work out swimmingly and result in something like this:

OR, this can result in a FAIL of epic proportions. The sort of FAIL that will become legendary...that people will talk about for years and years and years. i.e. something like this:

Tom, you obvies have no fucking clue what you're doing in the world of fashion, so I'm not even going to bother with you. But, Katie...you were actually on quite the high fashion kick for awhile back there. You were looking glam, and fab...and now its all gone to shit. I guess your fashion prowess was all due to your BFF sitch with Posh, and now that that's over, so are you?

3. Eh, Fuck it -

See that was really all I had to say about you two (I told you there was a reason I don't do fashion posts).

Anyway, pull your shit together. It's getting embarrassing already.
kthxbye,
me.

I Can't Get It Up For Katie Holmes

Dear Katie, **

So, I'm sitting here in typical DFA deep thinking mode (can of diet coke, 100 calorie pack of choc chip cookie slivers and 2 vicodin) [kidding my little ponies, I WISH].

Anyway.

I'm sitting here, in the same place I sit every night. And I'm armed with this vid of you above singing and dancing during your upcoming guest spot on Eli Stone. This should be p-l-e-n-t-y of ammo to get me all lubed up and goin as per u. But for some crazy fucking reason, I got nothing.

The snark is not coming.

I mean, you def look kinda weird, and you bop your head very awkwardly, and though you're normally a pretty girl, you're not lookin particularly pretty...and yet I can't really "get it up" anymore than that.

I need a Viagra.

I think I'm actually having trouble making fun of your singing voice, and your horrendous hairdo, and your lame dancing because (gulp), I've kinda been feeling bad for you these days.

I mean, who could have imagined!?

You start this bizarro, staged, totally fake relationship with Tom Cruise (sign papers-n-everything, yo!), get your ass artificially inseminated with L. Ron Hubbard's sperm (since hello? we all know Tom's gay), let yourself get sucked into that Scientology bullshit, and now you're in so deep you probs couldn't even point to Capeside on a motherfucking map. All in an effort to catapult yourself to superstardom through osmosis.

But then your fake husband Tom Cruise went batshit crazy...and made Brooke Shields cry...and lost his production deal...and now everybody hates him.

And this is what you're left with.

It's no wonder you started recording secret confessionals in your closet.

Anyway, this Eli Stone thing totally sucked.

That's all I really got.

"I don't wanna wait, for our lives to be o-ver,"
mi

Katie Holmes Is Clicked The Fuck Out, Y'All

Dear Katie,**

Shit.

I knew that things were bad, but like I didn't know that they were THIS bad.

I think we can all agree that when Mrs. Tom Cruise is reduced to holing up in her closet and shooting secret videos about the evil team of Scientologists who are controlling her life and forcing her to wear plaid fucking pants, it just can't get much worse than that.

I mean, what's next?? A crazy right wing Vice Presidential candidate with a knocked up, coke whore teenager? The virtual unraveling of our entire financial landscape? Rappers blogging, for chrissakes?!

As if!

I want you to know that I consider each of these videos a call to arms, Katie (or is it Kate? Or was that all just more of this mind control bullshit!? Tell me what you like to be called, dammit!).

I'm like totally subscribed to your youtube channel now, and I'm gonna start a write-in campaign to see if I can get your ass on that show Intervention or maybe into that Dr. Drew Pinsky rehab clinic show.

In the meantime, you might wanna get some of those strips that you can dip into your food so you can check the ph levels for poisonous substances, and also probably you shouldn't drive your car or like leave your bedroom door unlocked...like e-v-e-r.

But you're gonna be OK, Katie!

Really!

(maybe).

(God, I hope so).

Hang in there grrl!,
m.e.